What Devils Do
by pathopoeia
Summary: Jim has always been the self-deprecating type. But with recovering from his death and assignment on a five year mission, he hasn't got the luxury of time to hate himself. He has the crew of the Enterprise to watch over, and he'd die before anyone could take them from him. Slow building, multiship fic. Slash pairings, rated M for smut and gore. Focus on Spirk. Update! 5/8/13
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Hey guys! I know with two fics already on the go I shouldn't be starting another one, but I'm really stuck on the other two and this one has room for so many ideas that I just can't help myself. A warning now - this will be quite dark and angsty in places, but I promise that there will be humour and a happy ending.

Sorry it's a short chapter, they will definitely get longer.

_In which Spock visits the hospital, Bones says several variations of dammit and I put in way too much angst for the first chapter._

* * *

Spock entered the ward, heading straight past the reception desk and ignoring the curious smile of the receptionist. The woman was quite familiar with Spock - she had been on the desk for approximately 86% of the times that Spock had visited. It had been almost two months now, two months that Jim had been in a coma that even the best doctors Starfleet had to offer could not wake him from. Spock had visited him everyday.

As he entered Jim's private room he took in a steadying breath. While he felt he was now back in control of his emotions, seeing Jim Kirk, his _Captain_ lying small and unconscious on the biobed was strangely disarming. It sent a pang of something resembling nausea curdling in his stomach. Jim was never quiet, never still. His blue eyes were always wide open, determined. He would usually be moving, even if it was simply tapping his foot. Not anymore. Now he lay unmoving on the bed, his muscle mass decreasing with everyday that passed.

Doctor McCoy was inspecting the panels detailing Jim's condition, tapping a stylus on his arm and turned as Spock entered.

"Good morning, Doctor." Spock greeted him. "How is he today?"

McCoy sighed. "Same as ever. Vitals are stable, but his brain activity is increasing. Could be a good sign, but I'm pretty sure he's just dreaming and no damn closer to waking up."

Spock clasped his hands behind his back and surveyed the panel himself. While he was less knowledgable than Doctor McCoy, he still had some medical expertise. He surmised that the doctor was most likely correct, though the spikes in brain activity made a wave of illogical hope swell in his chest. Spock pushed the feeling aside.

"And yourself?"

McCoy's expression hardened. "Saving the life of the Starfleet's goddamn poster boy has won me some favour, but they're still not happy. Something about illegally making a serum from a homicidal alien's blood."

Spock's lips thinned, "When will they release their verdict."

"Another couple of weeks at least. They mainly just argue with each _other _but that doesn't stop the damn bastards from calling me in every five minutes."

"I believe they would be unjustified in taking away your medical license. You saved Jim."

"I don't know if I saved him, not...not when I see him like this." McCoy looked down at Jim, "Goddammit you reckless bastard, you need to wake _up_."

Spock's stomach tightened as McCoy's voice broke on the last word, but then his communicator chirped. The doctor pulled it out and swore under his breath.

"I've got to go. Keep an eye on him."

Spock refrained from pointing out that there were hundreds of medical professionals more qualified than he to watch over the Captain, but nevertheless he sat on the chair by Jim's bedside. The entire bridge crew had taken turns visiting Jim, talking to him about what had been going on. Scotty had brought Jim some wine he had managed to brew himself in the engine room and explained all the repair-work being done on the _Enterprise_. Uhura chatted about how she was going to make good on her promise to teach him vulcan (Spock wondered when this had occurred, but had made no comment). Chekov had read Russian stories to him and Sulu had bought a bizarre looking plant to put on the windowsill. Carol Marcus had sent flowers with a sealed letter attached, but had not visited in person. Perhaps she felt guilty as it was her father that had led to Jim being in this state.

In which case, Spock was glad she stayed away.

He had rarely left the Captain's side. He felt absurdly guilty because he could not shake the illogical feeling that he should have _known_. Having spoken to his future self regarding Khan...when Scotty had called up from engineering, Spock had known instantly. He had known with a horrifying certainty what Jim had done. He had taken Spock's place, died instead in order to save his crew.

Spock missed Jim. He missed his burning blue eyes, the confidence set in his shoulders. The way he understood the strength and weaknesses of those serving under him (even those of Spock himself, though Spock would always deny this). The easy smile, the unspoken jokes that he and Spock shared.

"Jim, it has now been nearly two months since you..." Spock faltered. "Since you died. I implore that you wake up soon. The _Enterprise_ is almost half repaired, but there are several major issues which have yet to be rectified. An upgraded warp core will be fitted, and I believe Mr Scott would like your opinion on...because he knows that you are gifted in the...in the engineering field..."

Spock trailed off. Jim's eyes stayed closed. Sometimes, Spock could not help feeling that every time he came here and saw Jim lying on that bed that it was just like watching him die all over again.

X

A hand on his shoulder jerked Spock from sleep. He had not meant to succumb to his tiredness, and his muscles ached from having fallen asleep in the small chair. Nyota smiled at him gently.

"Hey, Spock." she kissed his cheek, "How's he doing?"

"His neural patterns are increasing but Doctor McCoy has attributed this to dreaming and doubts that it is a sign of Jim waking up."

Nyota rubbed her head with her hand.

"There's..." she hesitated, "There are rumours that the Admiralty board are going to order McCoy to pull the plug."

It took a moment for the words to sink in. When they did, Spock jerked to his feet.

"They will _not_." his voice was so fierce that he felt taken aback, and attempted to calm himself, "Jim is improving. They cannot simply..."

"I'm only telling you what I heard. You have to admit, he looks bad, Spock."

Spock let his eyes take in Jim like he had done hundreds of times before. Taking in the hissing jerk as the respirator breathed for his Captain, the way his cheeks had become sunken and pale. The frail beat of his weak, human heart.

"We will not let them." Spock said quietly, resolute. He knew that the crew of the _Enterprise_ would bring hell to whoever attempted to take their Captain away from them. He saw his determination mirrored in Nyota's dark eyes, in the subtle curve of their mouth.

"We need to stall them with every regulation we can think of," she nodded, "Get as many people to testify against it as we can. The crew makes up nearly 1000 people, we can hold out for a while."

"We must consider the possibility of being offered the choice of Doctor McCoy losing his license for attempting to-"

"That's not a choice, it's blackmail. And really - which do you think matters more to him? His job or his best friend?"

Spock realised that really, it was no choice at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Warning: swearing and mentions of child abuse, violence etc. It's another short chapter.

_In which Jim is trapped in his past, and there is much angst. _

* * *

It was very, very dark. Jim was hopelessly lost and he couldn't see a fucking _thing_. He reached out blindly, hands groping in the darkness - and then it was like he had turned on a light. The world melted into existence around him, and as he took in his surroundings Jim nearly fell to his knees. He hadn't been here in a long, long time.

The ground under his feet was hard and cracked, covered with a layer of dust, the air thick and still. Jim closed his eyes and breathed in. It smelt of death, of burning buildings and Jim didn't want to be _here_. He ran his hands down his body. He was in his Starfleet uniform. He couldn't remember what had happened. Why _was_ he here?

Jim looked around him. It was exactly as he remembered it. The bodies slumped on top of each other in puddles of blood that had seeped from phaser wounds, smoke pouring from some of the rickety buildings that had been set on fire. The air tasted bitter in his mouth.

"Hello?" he called out. His voice cracked.

There was no answer.

_I have done this before. _

Last time he had crawled on his hands and knees in the dirt and the blood and tried to shake those dead bodies to life - _please don't leave me._ Last time he had cried because he was alone again and he was so hungry that it hurt to breathe.

_Last time he had been tied to a post and whipped until his back was in bloody shreds because had tried to steal food and then run away. He had bitten through his cheek in his refusal to scream, even at thirteen he was stubborn. All that he could hear was the frantic beating of his own heart in his ears. There had been blood running down into the backs of his trousers, thick and sticky and even this didn't hurt as much as having his home and life ripped away again._

_Last time he had looked down the barrel of a phaser held by a man called Kodos and he had not flinched. He had looked at the man with his burning blue eyes and waited for the trigger to be pulled. The metal had shone, and reflected the uniforms of the people who burst in to save them. He was thirteen, and it was the second time that he had cheated death._

Jim blinked hard, and then he was somewhere else. It was still hot and dry - summer in Iowa. Flashes of a red car, a mixture of fear and adrenaline which was what had kept him going long after he had nearly thrown himself off of the cliff. He had nearly done it.

_Because what was waiting for him at home? There was Frank with his hard fists and cruel words that only got worse when his mother was away, there was a brother who left him and even his mom found it hard to look him in his eyes. His father's eyes. But his father had given his life so that Jim could live. And even though he was a child (though his soul was older than his body, he knew) he understood that throwing away the one thing his father had been able to give him was not right. So he had flung himself out of the car and faced the police officer with bravado and hid that desperate urge to die in the front seat of that car as it crashed down the cliffside._

_He went home and he didn't even feel it when Frank battered him so hard that the next day he was a patchwork of bruises. He didn't feel it because that was when he decided that he was going to leave. _

_And he went to Tarsus IV. And he lost it all again._

X

Spock skidded to an ungraceful stop into the hospital room. When he had seen the frantic expression of the receptionist he had sprinted to Jim's room without a second thought.

Doctor McCoy had a hypospray between his teeth and was frantically tapping at the panel on the screen.

"Docto-?"

"Spock, get the bed restraints on him _now_."

McCoy jabbed the needle into Jim's neck.

Spock was momentarily taken aback before regained himself and crossed to Jim's side. The Captain was spasming uncontrollably, eyes rolling in their sockets. As gently as he could, Spock activated the biobeds inbuilt restraints. He held Jim still one limb at a time as the restraints snapped on, one on each wrist, one on each arm, his legs held down firmly and one crossing his chest. Eventually the seizure faded, leaving Jim slumped on the bed, paler than ever.

Spock found that he could not speak. This was illogical as there was nothing wrong with his vocal chords.

"His brain activity spiked," McCoy said hoarsely, "And then he just...dammit. Damn it all to hell."

He slumped into the chair by Jim's bed and dropped his face into his hands. Spock stared the panel displaying Jim's vitals. The increase in brain activity had dropped down, painting a thin squiggly line on the screen, erasing the sharp spike. Spock wondered what was going on in Jim's head. This was not a new thought - Spock had often been at a loss when confronted with Jim's irregular thought processes. But it seemed more important this time.

"On the good side, it doesn't look like they're going to fire me." McCoy said quietly, "But they're pushing...Spock they want me to pull the plug."

They both looked at Jim.

"But you brought him back. He is alive."

"Dammit Spock, I know that. I also know that even though I keep telling them his brain scans are all _fine_ they would rather have him pinned up as a damn sacrificial hero like his dad than let the world forget him because he's in a goddamn _coma_!"

Spock had no reply. His opinion of Starfleet had lowered significantly after discovering what Admiral Marcus had been able to get away with, and their need for a face to keep the Starfleet name immortalized. James T. Kirk, hero who sacrificed himself to save Earth sounded a lot more _impressive_ apparently than Jim Kirk, left in a coma after trying to save his crew. The gap between truths and lies was every-growing, and it made Spock even more uncomfortable about his human side. Was this how he was supposed to feel?

He was half-vulcan, he should feel nothing at all. He should feel calm, in control.

"Are there no other methods you can think of to wake him up? We are running out of time, Doctor McCoy."

McCoy sighed and shook his head.

"I've done everything I can think of." he looked down at Jim, still restrained in case of another seizure. "Dammit, Jim."

Spock stood there silently for a long time, watching the artificial rise and fall of Jim's chest.

He was half-human, and when he looked at Jim he felt both hope and an aching fear that he would never stand at Jim's side on the bridge again.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_In which Spock is emotionally comprised, but doesn't realise it and Jim decides that dying is pretty shit._

* * *

Spock had not left Jim's side for the next week. He had had only two more seizures, and they were decreasing in length and intensity. Still, nothing anyone could say (Not Nyota or Doctor McCoy, though they had both tried) could persuade Spock to leave Jim alone for more than a moment. He sat, an immobile guardian even when Chekov visited, the Russian glancing at Spock only once and then accepting his presence. To his initial surprise, none of the members of the crew seemed taken aback by his constant presence. It was though it was almost expected.

Spock was not sure how to feel about this, and he did not waste time pondering these occurrences. His mind was focusing on the beats of Jim's heart, on the day when McCoy found that Jim could breathe on his own, the time that Jim squeezed Sulu's hand.

But no matter how much these advances meant, they were still running out of time. McCoy was fighting Jim's battle, visiting the Admirals everyday with new scans and reporting on how Jim was improving, and he came back everyday looking tired and defeated.

Spock had...he had an idea. He had a way, a procedure usually performed by vulcan healers. Occasionally vulcans became 'stuck' in their healing trance and required another vulcan to enter their mind and guide them to consciousness. Spock had not simply been refusing to leave Jim's side - no, he had spent days gathering research on the nature of the human mind and of comas. Ideally he would have been able to access Jim's files in order to prepare himself for what may lie in the Captain's mind, but even for a Captain of his standing, Jim's files were impossible for even he to access. He had broached this subject with Doctor McCoy - who revealed that he was equally in the dark. He knew things from Jim's medical files that Spock didn't, but did not seem inclined to share.

Spock did not push the matter as he did not want anyone to guess his plan. It was dangerous - Spock was not a trained vulcan healer, and he did not know Jim well enough to know if he could even pull him out of his coma. He had no idea what was lurking in Jim's mind - a damaged mind could consume Spock's and destroy them both.

Spock took in a slow breath. He would not allow that to happen. He undid the restraints holding Jim to the bed, allowing his fingers to brush the greenish bruises on Jim's wrists - a remnant from the last seizure.

Hesitantly he placed his fingers on Jim's psi points. The skin on his face was papery and fragile to the touch, and it only served to strengthen Spock's resolve. He closed his eyes and sent his mind forth into Jim's.

Jim's mind was as dynamic and chaotic as his personality. Memories flowing and ebbing like the uncontrollable tides of the sea, all interconnected. It was most unlike Spock's own mind, ordered and compartmentalized. It was fascinating. Yet Spock did not have the time to study Jim's mind further - and it would have been an unforgivable breach of privacy. He could feel the edges of pain and sadness at the surface, old wounds reopened and bleeding. Spock did not dare reach out for them in case of harming himself or Jim.

He tentatively made contact with the brilliant spark of Jim's conscious mind.

_Jim?_

Spock was unprepared for the mental shield that slammed him back. He did not know that humans could possess such a mental dexterity or strength. Yet Jim was weak and confused, and Spock carefully pulled the wall back down again.

_Jim you need to wake up._

Jim's mind changed, forming a scene, a memory. Spock felt a wave of anguish, followed by an aching fear that was not his own. He was seeing his own face from behind the glass door of the warp core, his own hand reaching out for Jim's in a vain effort to comfort him as he died.

_...why I couldn't let you die-_

Spock finished the sentence, as he had done then.

_Because you are my friend_.

Jim stood before him in his uniform, a lone figure in a dark landscape. Spock was glad of this. If Jim brought up a memory now, he did not know if he would have the mental strength to escape it without having to tear himself out of Jim's mind and cause irreparable damage.

_Jim, you must wake up._

Jim looked confused, his eyes oddly dark.

_I'm lost. Where am I?_

_This is your mind._

_Why are you here? Are you in my mind too?_

_I am here to bring you back, Jim._

Jim's face showed a lack of comprehension that sent a wave of fear through Spock's chest.

_Bring me back where?_

Spock could find no words, and so he brought forth his own memories. Memories of Jim on the bridge, leaping to almost certain death to save Sulu, trusting Chekov and Scotty to bring them back. Trusting Spock, making him believe even when the logical outcome was death. Teasing Uhura, drinking with the crew. Apologising to the crew when he realised he had doomed them all.

Dying to save them.

Jim took in a gasp and his eyes were brilliantly blue.

X

Jim sat up, taking in a desperate lungful of air, Spock's hand being ripped from his face and the mental connection wavering into nothingness. He looked around confused and then his eyes found Spock.

"Hey, Spock." he said, his voice hoarse from disuse. "You look like shit."

Spock had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. Jim's eyes were bright and clear, his brain sending complex spikes to the panels. His heart beating strongly and a smile hovering on his face.

_Jim._

"I believe that you look worse, Jim."

Jim smiled wryly, "Probably. I did die after all. Speaking of, why am I _not_ dead?"

It was at that moment that Doctor McCoy burst into the room, the hope on his face almost obscene. Jim grinned and gave him a little wave. McCoy's eyes widened before he managed to rearrange his face into his customary scowl.

"Dammit, Jim!" he growled, heading straight for the bed to look at his vitals, "You took your time."

Jim stretched his neck. "Two questions Bones - one, why am I not dead, and two, how long have I been..."

"I made a serum out of that bastard's blood." McCoy grumbled, "And you've been out for two months."

Jim raised an eyebrow, but despite the thousands of questions buzzing around his head he kept his mouth shut. He felt like utter crap.

"How do you feel, Jim?" Spock asked. He was still turning over the intense complexity of Jim's mind, but those thoughts were pushed aside when those blue eyes focused on him. They were duller than usual, slightly sunken because of the amount of weight Jim had lost. But they still burned with the sharp determination that embodied James Tiberius Kirk.

"I feel fucking awful," Jim rasped, "But I think dying and then being revived and then in a coma for two months sort of accounts for that."

"Indeed."

McCoy broke up the reunion, waving a hypospray menacingly.

"Spock, I need to examine Jim properly. You can come back tomorrow."

Spock's mouth pressed into an unhappy line but he nodded, getting gracefully to his feet and clasping his hands behind his back.

"Of course. It is good to have you back, Captain."

Jim flashed him a smile as he left, shutting the door behind him. As soon as the door clicked shut, the smile slid from his face and he slumped back into the pillows, a spasm of pain crossing his face.

"Jim, how do you feel _really_?"

"Like death warmed up. Which is appropriate I suppose." Jim ran his hands down his body, "Shit, how much weight did I _lose_?"

"It's going to take you a while - getting back to eating solid food, gentle exercise to get back into the swing of things. Other than the fact that you've been in a damn coma, you're fine. No brain damage and I did a complete blood transfusion. I didn't trust Khan's blood not to...I don't know. Dammit, I didn't want to take the chance. I left it in you long enough so your heart was beating."

Jim nodded. "How's the ship?"

_Out of danger._

Jim squeezed his eyes shut and took in a slow, calming breath, focusing on Bones' voice.

"Not bad. Scotty has put off some of the work because he wanted to talk to you about it. Something about a new warp core. I'll be back in a bit, Jim and dammit don't you _dare _try getting up. I need to let Starfleet know you're awake."

Jim watched Bones go without arguing. There was an ache in him that went deep to the bone, and he didn't relish the thought of doing anything but maybe sitting more upright and eating his weight in burgers. Which would be a lot more feasible considering. Where once his chest had been muscled and strong, it was now flat, and he could run his fingers along the protruding bumps of his ribcage.

He looked around him. There were gifts and cards scattered all over the table sitting to the right hand side of the bed. Jim smiled to himself and resolved to get Bones to move them so he could look at them all later. He already guessed that the aged vintage whisky would be from Bones, and the folded blueprints of what looked like the _Enterprise_ from Scotty. He craned his neck to try and see the others, but it was too much of an effort. He flopped back into the bed with a heavy sigh. He may have been dead, but he was as easily prone to boredom as ever. He tapped his foot under the covers and ran a hand through his hair.

Could it really have been two months ago? The last thing he remembered was Spock's face, brown eyes full of tears and his hand pressed to the glass in an attempt to chase the fear of death from Jim. It hadn't worked, but at least he hadn't died alone.

He had been _dead_.

The thought was so alien, so utterly incomprehensible that it made Jim's head hurt. His crew had seen his corpse, had dealt with a sacrifice that would have, if not for Bones, been permanent.

_How can you choose not to feel?_

Jim tore himself from the whispers of the memory. It was no good dwelling on it. Like his childhood, like Tarsus, like his mother...this would just be added to the pile of things that had happened in his past that he wouldn't think about. No point reopening old wounds. He was a Captain, and when he was ready and back on his ship, he would have lives depending on his strength. He refused to let them down.

He was almost scared to let himself drift off to sleep. But then he remembered the brush of another mind that was not his own pulling him to the surface, and felt safe in knowing that he was not alone.

Also Bones would kick his _ass_.


End file.
